


Internal Conflict

by ridoma (Diminuendo)



Category: Blood Bank (Webcomic)
Genre: ALSO I HAD A WRITERS BLOCK SO THIS HELPED, Gen, its abt ghost, small drabble im lAZY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 11:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10333724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diminuendo/pseuds/ridoma
Summary: Ghost is not a human, not anyone, no one. She is pain, a suffering mountain of pain and misery. She doesn't care about her own hope anymore, but believes in the goodness for others.





	

                It was cold, so cold that her fingers were turning blue and she could physically feel her ears about to fall off. Ghost grunted, the stupid cloak around her shoulders provided no real warmth, she mostly kept it because it was the only thing she had when she was abandoned. Ghost tried to think deeper into her past for the millionth time, who brought her here, why she was here, why did they abandon her? She couldn’t, her last thought was a measly ‘ _I woke up in a wooden house’_ because the sound of her chattering teeth was too loud and intrusive to let her think. Ghost tightened in a ball, as tight as she could and then did the only thing she could do to let go of her pathetic state: sleep.

                When she woke up, it was less cold and her drowsy eyes quickly registered the melting snow. In a desperate measure (she would later discipline herself for acting so weak—the weak world is for no one) she looked for the golden embrace of the sun, but saw smoggy concrete walls instead. She looked to her left, the snow had melted which meant she was most likely soaked in water. She shifted her leg over more and craned her neck more: a patch of water on her beige pants. Ghost stood up, untied her cloak and began to wave it in the air to dry it. She hated being cold, but she didn’t mind being wet. There was something about water that made her felt clean, pure and softer overall about her self-image.

                Just as predicted, Ghost was upset that she let herself shrivel because a thicker blanket of snow. She could stand fights and insults, but the snow always made her weak. Ghost looked at the wall behind her and realised that, in her frightened state, she had decided to sleep against the weak, porous walls of her shack rather than on the thin fibres on a single sheet of cloth inside her, her, home? Her shack? Housing unit? She sighed and pressed her palm against her forehead (pausing drying the cloak), at least there were pieces of cloth, food, accessibility to heat and books to pass her time inside said housing unit. She loved being wet but hated the fact she’d have to dry her clothes inside the housing unit where drips of water would gently trickle off her pants and activate the dirt on the floor.  She draped the cloak across her arm and began to walk towards the entry of her housing unit, she would stiffen her shoulders and bear the muddy ground.

                The slums Ghost lived in was like any other; big, poorly made, full of scum, cold and devoid of life. It wasn’t devoid in the sense that the population is low, it was devoid because most of the people here were simply surviving, or teetered on the edge of life—nothing that could be categorized as living. Ghost liked to refer to the general populace as Sucked, because the vampires had sucked both their blood and dignity. Ghost, herself, identified as a Sucked, she wasn’t any different because she also was only surviving.  (To make herself feel better, she’d call vampires mosquitos, they were in every sense.) Life here had a basic, primitive hierarchy system: strongest at the top, weakest at the bottom. She ranked high and could get the freshest, warmest rations and didn’t fear robbery. Proper names here were also very uncommon—people would name themselves based on a colour. Any colour. She was Black Shadows. This tradition brought a small sense of community and home, it also allowed someone to identify any non-natives of the area. The Sucked of the area referred to this part of slums as Black—because the first person in this part named themselves Black. She supposed Black was one of the better slums to live in, tradition and all.

                Now in the house, Ghost began to undress and change into her dry pair of clothes. They were rough against her skin and scratchy and ugly but she knew she had no choice. Ghost hung up her wet pair of clothes and cloak (she glared at the puddle underneath them) and pulled out a black cloak off the top of a nearby wooden crate. She took off her wet boots at the door and decided to change her footwear as well. Her attention went last to her gloves, she decided not to change them—they were thick and her hands were calloused, it didn’t matter at this point.

* * *

 

                His throat was small in her hand but his eyes were wide saucers peering up at her. Her other hand gripped a knife—she could get so much out of him. If she killed him, she could take his belongings, if she kept him, others could pay a ransom and she could even sell him to gain money or ration. His suffering could benefit her so much, and lift this coldness off her bones. As she glared down at him, she realized he was shivering. Even in this critical moment, he was clutching his arms— _did he really hate the cold so much?_ Their eyes are red, hair is white and skin is pale and suddenly Ghost found a comrade in the boy that was much smaller than her. She let him go and asked his name. He replied.

                “What a’ ugly first name. I’ll be calling you that for the rest of your life,” she looked at this new person. This person who felt the same way she did, “Why did you come to Black? There are more than me who can kill you.”

                “I came here with Brutal Bones,” the boy replied, carefully, “He left me on my own.” The boy was at loss for words.

                “Why don’t you come inside? At least you won’t die of the shitty predators out here.”

                “You may kill me,” the boy quickly noted.

                “I would’ve already.” She replied.

* * *

When Ghost saw Eric, innocently hoping for a better future, she thought of how emotional she is. She thought about her pain that was unfairly inflicted and how Humpty Dumpty is doing the same. She decided to free him. She did it because she knew. She knew he had someone whom he loved and someone who made him belong in this world. Ghost had no one to make her belong, but she was fine with that and instead to crack the shackles on Eric’s hands and feet to let him fly into the arms of the one who he had decided to cherish. Because these two people cherished each other and needed each other, Ghost let him go. Someone loved, protected and cared for would not let the world tarnish completely when they had a perfectly good reason to live on.

                She knew her emotions were getting to her again, but she didn’t care. Just because the goodness of the world didn’t apply to her didn’t permit her to hurt others. She detested pain because she felt everywhere and everyday and wished no one the eternal ice age resting in her rib cage. She knew suffering, she knew the effects of suffering and how everyone bends under a sharpened knife. She knew she was bent at every angle also, but a small child inside her pulls at the strands of her hair and demands for happiness. She would attempt to reject chaos in the best way possible without abandoning the one who was drunk on poison. Ghost felt her resolve trickle around her spine, knuckles and lips. Without saying a single word, she grabbed the nearest boy and alarmed him of the attack on the Midlands. She thought promoting destruction was the last thing she could be allowed to do.

                Ghost had been abandoned in the slums, a blanket around her small shoulders when she was little. As a child, she was deformed with a big nose, small eyes and rectangular lips. She didn’t know that though, when she looked into a puddle she only saw herself and behind her shoulders she thought she was a flower placed in a bucket of coal. As a child, she was never scared of the cold, she made snowballs and snowmen and sat in the ice as Cyclamen stood above her and taught her how to read. Cyclamen had black hair and missing nails, but she was the epitome of beauty for her. When Ghost grew up, she realized Cyclamen was quite ugly, but had carried baskets of love and affections for everyone living in Black.

(It was upsetting that Cyclamen wasn’t in an environment that allowed her to grow and instead forced her to rot and die.)

**Author's Note:**

> I reblogged [a picture of Ghost on Tumblr](http://vakoedelveys.tumblr.com/post/158475192275/%D1%88%D0%B8%D0%BA%D0%B0%D1%80%D0%BD%D1%83%D1%8E-%D0%B6%D0%B5%D0%BD%D1%89%D0%B8%D0%BD%D1%83-%D0%B2%D0%B0%D0%BC-%D0%B2-%D0%BB%D0%B5%D0%BD%D1%82%D1%83) and after staring at that image, I realized that she was quite complex. Now her backstory is contrived by whatever information is given in the manhwa (aka Ghost attacking Humpty Dumpty and then realizing they shared some kind of pain). Ghost is underrated in the fandom and I much prefer her over Humpty Dumpty.  
> Ghost’s gender in the manhwa is unspecified (I think) so I decided to make her female because of the lack of female characters.  
> If you were wondering about about the colours:  
> 
> 
> * Ghost: [#bfafb2](http://www.colorhexa.com/bfafb2.png)
>   
> 
> * Cyclamen (who's an OC): [#f56fa1](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyclamen_\(color\))  
> 
> 
> PS: ik i missed an indent but this website wont let me format that paragraph properly.


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